The Secrets That Keep
by Diligens
Summary: Secrets kept for a lifetime tend to keep us.
1. Secrets

I'm back after a very long hiatus. I've been kicking around this idea ever since the show ended. Just exactly how does Henry break the news to Jo and how does she react?

You know the drill – it don't belong to me, I'd be allot richer if it did.

*EDIT* My apologies for those who received one of those updated chapter emails. While rereading this to family I found one of those errors which, had I been lest hasty in the beginning, would never have been posted. There has been no significant changes, sorry.

* * *

Abe was beating me again and thoroughly enjoying the experience, calling me back to the chess table. I moved a piece, keeping my finger on it looking at all the ways my octogenarian son was going to slaughter me. I was in too good a mood to take it personally and enjoyed teasing him, smiling at him. My position wasn't irredeemable. Before he could complain about the time I was taking there was a knock at the door. It was Jo.

"Hello detective! Do you have a mystery for me to solve?"

Jo seemed a little nervous, "Yeah, I think ... ah ... you could say that." She held up my watch.

For one brief second I was afraid she was going to say that she had seen me die down in those tunnels, but then I rallied myself and took a deep breath. "Thank goodness." I laughed and hoped she couldn't see through me too well. "It was just stolen and I was about to file a police report." Boy am I a horrible liar, "and..." but please don't notice. "Well! Here you are." I flashed my most charming smile and hoped she would just think I was relieved.

"You know I'd figured you say that," Jo spoke quickly, as if uncomfortable. "I also," she took a deep breath, "found this." It was Abigail's picture, the one she always carried with her, taken shortly after we found Abe, the one Adam took from her, the one he showed me before he shot me. I could feel the ground threatening to close in around me, the false smile fell from my face and I felt all the fear of my secret being discovered, that same fear that had me gibbering like a fool when Abigail found me saying goodbye to Abe after I had died in her arms.

"I was hoping you could explain it to me?" Jo sounded so hopeful; it pulled me back into reality for a moment. Until the thought came that no ready lie will serve here. There was no easy way out. I was trapped. I took the picture from Jo's fingers and gazed at Abigail's image. She was so beautiful, so happy that day. I felt so lost without her.

Abe must have noticed my distress because I could feel him next to me. "Tell her." His eyes reminded me of an earlier conversation when he had urged me to find someone else, that he wouldn't live forever, and that I would need someone else to rely on, to keep me grounded - but how could I? As if he could read my mind Abe nodded. I turned back to the picture, remembering the day Abigail found out and her reaction, not the fear and condemnation I feared, but just to hold me - 'You poor man' she had said, and that was all. I took deep breath to steady myself, and then looked at Jo.

"It's a long story." I whispered. Perhaps my position wasn't irredeemable.


	2. …Revealed

Another one down and one more to go - possibly Monday. Many thanks to Brette O'Connell for correcting my error in the previous chapter - Abe is 70, not 80 (a septuagenarian). I'll correct that after work today.

As usual, not mine.

* * *

I couldn't tell who was more nervous or afraid, Henry or me. Abe, on the other hand, look like he'd been looking forward to this moment all his life.

"Please, come in." Henry stood back from the door to let me through. "Can I get you anything? Coffee, tea?" he stammered.

"No, thank you."

Henry seemed momentarily lost for words, "Ah, maybe we should go upstairs. We might be more comfortable there." He gave Abe a look that reminded me of lost boys, not for the first time I wondered what their relationship was _really._ Then I thought of the picture. Maybe today I'd find out.

Henry sent me up the stairs ahead of him while he hung back a moment with Abe. When he came up his hands were empty. "Abe will be up in a moment, he went to get some photo albums." He clasped his hands together, "Are you sure I can't get you something? It's no trouble, really."

"I'm too nervous for coffee." I confessed, deciding to relent a little.

"Tea is good for the nerves!" Henry almost shouted his relief, once again his chipper self.

I prepared myself for some off the wall trivia and was surprised when he quietly stepped into the kitchen and put the water on to boil.

"You were going to tell me about the picture." I reminded him after the silence had stretched on long enough. "The woman, was that Abigail?"

"Yes," Henry whispered, avoiding my eyes.

"And the baby?" I pressed after another long silence.

"Abraham." He swallowed compulsively, "We found him after Belsen was liberated. He was just a tiny baby." Henry's eyes lost their focus, swallowed up by memories. I held my breath, afraid to distract him. "Abigail wanted to keep him, but the authorities said that children should be placed with families. We pretended to be married so she could keep him – and I fell in love…" Once again lapsing into silence.

The kettle whistled, shattering the moment. Henry turned off the stove, fetched two mugs and prepared the tea – all in uncharacteristic silence. It occurred to me then that Henry hid behind noise – his chatter, the odd history lessons and arcane trivia was the barrier he hid behind, the crafted persona he used to keep people at arm's length. Now that he was being compelled to reveal some secret he was silent.

"How long ago was that?" I accepted the mug he gave me and smelled mint tea. Not my favorite, but ok.

"Seventy years," he finally answered. Was that a look of resignation replacing the fear in his eyes? Henry's hands were shaking, sloshing tea on the floor. I quickly took the mug from him and set both on the nearby table before grabbing a towel and cleaning up the mess.

Henry was still standing in the middle of the kitchen watching me intently with the same air as a condemned man. I had never seen him so terrified, not even when facing down murderers. It was more unnerving than what he said. I checked his hands just to give me an excuse to avoid his eyes, gently pulling him to the sink and washing them in cold water. "Where do you keep your towels?" I asked after realizing I'd grabbed the only one in sight for the floor.

"In there," he gestured with a jerk of his chin, his hands still imprisoned in mine. Opening the drawer, I grabbed the first bit of cloth I saw and dried his hands. It was only after he chuckled that I realized I'd grabbed a washcloth by mistake. Henry took another towel and dried my hands. "It seems I'm not the only one unnerved by this." He was smiling. I could still see the fear in his eyes, but it was beginning to retreat.

"I'm not sure yet what _this_ is." I quickly replied before mentally kicking myself. The unease flooded back into his face, but at least it wasn't that unnerving fear. "You're saying that you're over 70 years old, fell in love with Abigail, and posed as Abe's father."

"I _am_ Abe's father." He corrected me. There was a flash of something in his eyes – pride, relief? Then he lapsed into that awkward silence again.

"I knew you two were more than just roommates that first day you invited me over for dinner, and I knew Abigail was very special to you when we found her body. When I saw that picture…" my voice failed, thinking of the abandoned subway tunnel and those odd gunshots that still rang in my ears.

"You knew that the man in the photograph had to be me." He smiled again and suddenly I realized he was still holding my hands and quickly withdrew them.

"Yes," then I asked the question that had dogged my heels all the way over from the subway. "But how is that possible?"

"He's immortal." Abe offered from the doorway. "He dies, but then ends up in the East River and I go and fish him out." Abe set down several albums next to the tea. "Spilled some?" He asked, pointing to the towel in Henry's hands, then noticed the towel on the floor and washcloth in the sink. "I'll take care of that." Abe took both the towels and washcloth and left the room. "I'll be right back." He shouted over his shoulder.

I looked at Henry. He looked frozen. "Really immortal, like Highlander – immortal?"

"I don't actually watch tv, I don't know anything about Highlander, but if they end up naked in the river every time they die, then … yes, like Highlander."

I couldn't help myself, I giggled. "No, I'm pretty sure they couldn't put that on tv." Henry was turning red from embarrassment, which just fed the giggles. Maybe it was the shock. I didn't really believe his story, did I? How does someone become immortal? Were there any others out there? I couldn't stop giggling long enough to ask my questions. "I'm sorry," I gasped. "Do very many people laugh when you tell them?" then winced at my lame question.

"I've only told Nora. She didn't take it very well … she had me committed."

I gasped, the last giggle turning into a hiccough as my hand flew to my mouth.

Henry turned away, picking up the nearest album and burying himself in photographic memories. I placed a hand on his shoulder, "I'm sorry…" my voice faded away, as insignificant as my apology. "I'm sorry." I repeated, unable to think of anything better.

"That's not your fault, it's just a reaction to shock, and what Nora did isn't your fault either. She only did what she believed was right." I couldn't judge his feelings on the matter; he kept his face from me.

I sat in the chair next to his, "But it's not alright. It taught you to fear opening up to other people, to fear their reaction to your secret." I peered into his face, imploring him to trust again.

Henry looked physically worn out. His eyes evaded mine, remaining fixed on some distant spot I couldn't see. "I never told Abigail. I died in her arms. When Adam shot me today, I thought for sure you would be finding out the same way. That was his intention. I couldn't endure that." Henry's face crumpled and his eyes shone with tears that refused to fall. I found myself pulling my chair closer and holding him in my arms, shushing him like a child and promising him that it would be alright. While the cop in me wanted to know where this Adam character was so I could put him away for good. Henry held me, lightly at first, and then he buried his face in my hair and cried.


	3. At Last

Thanks to superlc529 for the suggestion of writing this from Abe's point of view. Well, it's finished. If you want another just ask.

* * *

Pops sighed as he finally sat down again across from me at the chessboard. I knew from his face that if I didn't start the conversation it might be a week before I heard his voice again. "Well? How'd it go? What does she think?" I didn't dare ask the question I was dying to know – would we be moving again? Lord have mercy, I didn't think I had another move like that left in me, not even for the sake of keeping my crazy family secret.

"I never did learn how to read minds," he quipped, giving me that lopsided grin of his. How many hearts has that grin melted?

I snorted, "Could've fooled me!" Then I pointed to the board, "Your turn again." If he wasn't going to talk then I would just have to find another way to get my answers. After all two people had been up there.

"She was shocked, I don't know what she believes, - I don't think she knows either. She needs time, and so do I."

I was amazed, an answer! Before I could digest that pops spoke again. "Abraham." There was such a long pause I almost gave in to the temptation to speak. "Do you remember ... how you found out?"

Now it was my turn to be too pensive for words. Mom had told me, of course. She had no desire that I would find out the same way that she did – and she knew pops too well to believe he would broach the subject. In fact pops never spoke about it – until after mom died and then he seemed to have some death wish – to experience as many deaths as possible and catalog them all, without the inconvenience of getting picked up for indecent exposure. Which wasn't the kind of talks I wanted on the subject.

"Mom used to take me to the river with her sometimes." I finally answered. "It was easier than explaining things to a sitter. I guess I always knew." I avoided his eyes.

"I had no idea," Pops whispered, assuming the worst. "You saw me die..."

"No! No dad. It wasn't like that." I grabbed his arm. "It was just this thing between you and mom that controlled our lives and shut me out. Mom explained things to me when she figured I was ready, but you never said a word. You were too ashamed of not being like everyone else." I have never yelled at him like that, not since he went off the wall after Mom died. I almost apologized, almost told him to forget it.

"I'm sorry Abe. I wanted to give you as normal a life as I could. I didn't want to dwell on the things that caused us so much pain." How many times had he given Mom that look after some aspect of his unique existence, like his not ageing, caused her some unintended pain?

"You know, the only reason I still have one of my parents living is because my dad's immortal." I patted his arm before continuing, "Such great blessings always come at a high price. It wasn't your immortality, or eternal youth I resented, it was your silence."

Pops mouth dropped open in astonishment. "I never thought of it in quite that way," he stammered at last. "What do you want to know?"

What did I want to know? What didn't I? Where to begin? "What's it like to die?" I finally decided.

"I don't know of a death that doesn't have its share of pain. It's terrifying as well – the unknown always is, and there's a part of me that hopes that each time will be the last time." He paused a moment as if contemplating going on. "As I draw my last breath there is a feeling of such peace. I'm aware of your mother then in that moment … as if she waits for me and whatever eternal bliss would have been ours if not for this curse is instead squeezed into that all too brief moment."

"Is that why you think of it as a curse? Because it keeps you from mom?"

"That and I simply got tired of living. After your mother left life held very little interest for me – for a while."

"Why didn't you say anything? I could have helped."

Pops gave a chuckle, "You know Jo said something about my reticence, that I had been so traumatized by the reaction of the first person I told my secret to that I had ceased to trust anyone. I kept my pain over it between myself and everyone around me - even my closest friends, perpetually drifting from one place to another so that no one had a chance to discover my immortality. She said that it wasn't right … but Abe; I don't know how to be any other way. I don't think it's possible."

"You're talking to me now, aren't you?"

"I guess I am – but don't put too great a strain on me in one evening. I'm an old man and very set in my ways." We both laughed at that and turned back to the game – which the old man won by the way. Pops always did live a charmed life.

* * *

 _When we possess a great secret we spend a good portion of our energy keeping it - even when we rarely think of it ourselves. It shapes who we are, what we do, and how we spend our time. It determines what topics are safe for conversation and which are not, as well as what sort of people are safe to spend time with, and which are to be avoided like a plague. No matter how comfortable you appear to be in your own skin the ruling passion of your life becomes a crippling fear of discovery._

 _Talking with Abe made me realize that I had hidden more from him than just the uncomfortable aspects of my condition, but a good portion of myself as well. Not just things that had happened in my past, but the unique perspective of modern life that my past had given me, and in so doing deprived him of opportunities to share his impressions and unique perspective of life with me._

 _I still don't know how Jo took my secret. She didn't have me committed, or run away in horror - and that is enough for right now. We'll talk about it again, when she's ready._


	4. Bonus Chapter: My Dearest Abe

**Because so many signed up for story updates, and because this takes place just after "At Last" I've decided to add this oneshot here. Thanks everyone for reading.**

* * *

I have no idea what possessed me to go digging about those dusty trunks that evening. Maybe it was a quest for nostalgia, or perhaps seeing Abigail's picture again left me hungry for more, for things not put in photo albums for general consumption. Things with a thick coating of dust and a thicker coating of memories. Old trunks and cases are magical objects with the power to transport you through time. An old wooden toy, a battered straw bonnet, a frilly baby's gown – an old letter addressed to Abe.

* * *

 _My dearest Abe,_

 _I find it so hard to believe that you are finally ours at last. We spent most of this day simply holding you and sharing our joy with friends and neighbors. You are so beautiful, my beloved little boy. I've never seen your father smile so much or look so full of joy. When I saw him for the first time I whispered to my best friend, Sarah, that he was the handsomest man I had ever seen and that someday I would make him my husband. We were at a dance, I forget the name of the band – it might even have been Glen Miller._

 _He was something of a mystery, your father – a British gentleman serving in the American Army. I believe several of the girls were quite cross with me for monopolizing his attention. That was a few days before Belsen was liberated. After that battle the medical corps was sent in to check for wounded and I made sure to be sent in with your father. It was a horrible place. Your family had died, sacrificing their life for yours and I brought you to your father. He looked so traumatized by the horror surrounding us that it caused my heart to ache all the more; but you, my darling, you smiled at us and gave us a glimpse of paradise. I wanted you with us at that moment but the officer in charge said that they would only place children with families._

 _Ever the practical man, your father said a family would be sure to take you home soon, but no one did. Everyone was struggling to keep their own families fed. So you were taken to an orphanage. They did everything they could but the building had been damaged in the bombing, and so many children lost their families, they were short on staff as well so I and several of the girls would volunteer. Sometimes your father would come with his doctor's bag to tend one child or another, and always he would visit you before returning home. One day he found bed sores on you and he had had enough._

 _I wrote to one of my father's friends, who was pastor of a small country church outside London, and asked him for his help. He sent me papers to show the orphanage board and as far as they were concerned, Mr. and Mrs. Morgan had every right to take our little Abraham home._

 _I am very glad you came along when you did to brighten our life. I can't imagine living without you or your father._

 _Love, Mom_

* * *

I had forgotten, it wasn't until opening it that I remembered…

 _1945_

"Where should we keep it so we don't forget it," Henry asked Abigail while holding their infant.

"I plan on relying on you to remember dear. You remember so many little details; surely you can remember to give this to our son when he is ready," she smiled in reply.

"Our son. I like the sound of that," then to Abe, "Our dearest boy."

Henry was smitten. At some point that day he realized that he was head over heels in love with Abigail. It was terrifying actually. She didn't know his secret and he couldn't bring himself to tell her. He'd open his mouth and remember Nora. If Abigail reacted the same way it would crush his heart.

"What is it dear? You look like you've seen a ghost." Abigail stood from her little writing desk and took Abe, who had begun to fuss, and laid him in his crib. It was the work of a moment to calm her new son and Abigail soon returned to the man she was beginning to think of as her husband. "What is it dear?"

Henry struggled for a moment to organize his thoughts. When he thought of his secret he was struck mute, so he did the only thing he could do. He banished it from his mind.

"I'm a father," he said at last, "who has gone mad with love for my son's mother. I'm mad, and hope never to be sane again," and he kissed her until all memory of his fear fled both their minds. Then he took the letter and added a post-script: _I shall always love you, Dad_.

"That goes for you too," Henry whispered in her ear.

And he meant it.

THE END

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I'm working on an outline for another Forever story that would take place shortly after this one. If you'd like a notice when I publish the first chapter please follow me. Thank you.


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